


Roadhouse Blues

by Zagzagael



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S2. Sam had tried to warn him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roadhouse Blues

"This is me calling it a night," Ellen said to both of them, one last flick of the rag over the bar top, snapping it out and hanging it on the lip of the bar sink. "Jo, lock up, and Dean you and your brother are welcome to bed down in the back."

Dean nodded gratitude and Ellen walked past him to bend and drop a quick kiss on Jo's head. He watched her blush prettily under the locks of hair fallen into her face. "Mom," she implored.

"Don't 'mom' me, girl. There's no shame in a mother kissing her daughter goodnight." She turned to Dean. "Goodnight now. And don't let Sam and Ash research until sunrise either. That's an order."

He saluted and she grinned at him, and then was gone out the back door, her boot steps echoing off the planks of the back porch. He slid off the bar stool and stretched, pressing his hands into his lower back, twisting his spine into a satisfying pop and crack. Closing time had been an hour ago. Sam and Ash were still sequestered in Ash's room, Ellen had cleaned and hummed and kept an eye on him and Jo while they played hand after hand of Texas Hold 'Em, cheatin' style. He turned now to Jo, who had stacked the cards and was also standing and stretching, her taut body visible beneath the tight tank top. He looked away. "Guess I'd better rouse those two guys and we can all get some shut eye."

"Dean," she said softly. With a decisive step he should have seen coming, she moved up against him, hands on his face, pressing into his body and she kissed him. Her lips were soft and her mouth insistent, her small, finely-boned body felt familiar in the same way that the mind searching for a word it has forgotten recognizes the spaces in which it searches. He let her kiss him, felt her hands flat-palming his face possessively, and emotions twisted and tangled inside his guts. Finally, he brought his hands up to her shoulders and gently pressed her away from him, stepping back, out of her heat, away from the need of her hips and he felt chilled, inside and out.

Her eyes were closed and he looked at the sweet girl face, young and vulnerable. The way the impossibly blonde strands fell against her forehead, her temple, the curve of her ear peeking out where she had pushed a hank behind it. Slowly he watched her open her eyes, knowing what he would see there, confusion and hurt and embarrassment creeping into her features.

"Jo," he whispered, his voice hoarse with a small pain.

She shut her eyes quickly, blinking.

He closed his own eyes willing himself to find the calm center, feeling a fool because Sam had tried to tell him and he had laughed, uncertain and now that she had pushed her way into his arms, he realized that some part of him had wanted this, had wanted to tempt his instinct. But the iced blood, the roiling guts; he felt disgust with the realization that he had actually wanted to tempt his own loyalties, his bone-deep needs. For one wild, crazed moment, breathing in the scent of her, responding to the tremble beneath his hands, he considered leaping towards her, into the chasm that would destroy him.

"God damn," he said softly and straightened his elbows, stepping another step back, away.

"I'm sorry," she said brokenly.

"No, baby, don't be. It's not you. At all. Nothing to be sorry about. Honest to god. Here, I gotta sit down. Here." He pulled-pushed her to a table and with one hand on her and one hand on a chair, he gently pressed her down into it, then finally let his hand drop from her and pulled a chair out for himself, sitting quickly. With the proximity of their knees, he stood just as quickly, spinning the chair beneath his leg and straddling it, arms crossed over the back, head down on his wrists.

He heard her get up, tensed in dreaded anticipation that she was going to touch him again, but the click of her worn cowboy boots was purposeful and she was back in a moment, the sound of two glass bottles being set on the table. He looked up and grabbed for one, grateful. He tipped it back and pulled half the beer down his throat, looking at her around his fist. Eyes cast down, she pushed the second bottle in his direction and swirled a nervous circle into the condensation ring on the wood.

He rubbed the cool bottle against his neck and then sat straighter. She was looking at him now, composed again, the girlish face taut, and her gaze intent.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't. And it's not you."

A slight shrugging of her shoulders.

"Jo, your mom would kill me. Really."

"I don't think so, Dean. And if that's going to be what you hang this on, it's weak. She wants me to be happy. I could be happy with you." She paused. "I could make you happy if you would let me...let someone."

He bit the inside of his cheek, mulling. Some part of him could imagine it, the female body, the female embrace, forgetting himself in her arms, finding a solace that could be stolen from her. He shook his head. "I'm happy, Jo. I am." He held up a hand. "Obviously I'm coming across like a miserable brooding bastard..."

She cut him off. "No, that would be Sam."

He smiled, nodding, finishing the beer, reaching for the second, thinking about Sam. His secret, their secret. Sam who seemed so transparent, the quintessential heart-on-the-sleeve-wearing sensitive fool.  But he wasn't, he wasn't any of the things he projected or conveyed and let them all be damned if they would ever know the things Dean knew about Sam. The sharp ache of his hip bones, the span of his shoulders, the length of his thigh, the slack fall of his mouth, the close of his eyes, the press of his forehead, the weight of his head, the shape of his teeth. The things told only to him.

Dean exhaled. "Yeah, well. He might seem miserable, but he's happier than he lets on."

She nodded, one arched brow expressing serious doubt. "Okay. Good for him. But it's you I want to make happy. You, Dean." She leaned forward and he had to steel himself from leaning away. "Why won't you let me? Why not let me?"

After a long moment, she sat back in her chair, defeated.

His eyes were clear and bright, a thought churning inside his brain, tentatively his tongue traced the bow of his lip. To speak it out loud, even vaguely, to put it out to the universe, to feel the weight of the words in his mouth. He leaned towards her, into the admission. "Jo, I'm in love with someone."

Her mouth gaped, then snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "Who?" she demanded. Then dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. I didn't know though. God, I'm so sorry." She was up on her feet, brushing at the front of her jeans, tugging at the hem of her tank.

He reached up and pulled her back down to the chair. She sat heavily. "How could you know? No one does. But that's the way it is and it's not going to change."

In an uncharacteristic gesture, she had covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry, that's terrible."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She looked confused. "That you're in love with someone you can't be with, that you have to find a way to fit that into your life, that you can't just settle down, stay put...a regular couple...."

He rubbed his hand over his eyes, he had already said too much, way too much. "It's not like that. Exactly."

Her wet eyes were trained on him, again, questioning, wanting to be told, to understand.

He stood. "C'mere." He reached down with both hands and she lay her own into his. He pulled her up and into his arms and held her tightly. "I want you to believe me when I tell you that I am happy. That things are okay for me. That I am in love and, Jo, that I am loved. I wouldn't make this up, okay? If it was about you, I would tell you. It's not."

She was holding him close; he could feel the bone thin curves of her, the strength in her arms. He allowed her to hold him tight. Finally, he dropped his hands and the moment she released him he stepped away. "Hey, I appreciate your interest and your concern. More than I think I'm letting on. I'm flattered. You're a serious babe and you're smart and funny. It's the lucky sonofabitch who settles down with you."

A throat was cleared behind him and Dean startled inside his skin, feeling the familiar timbre in every nerve ending.

He watched Jo's gaze flick over his shoulder, then her brows came down in a quick irritated gesture. She looked back into his face. "I don't believe you, Dean. And I'm not going to back off just because you've told me there's someone else. You sound sincere, but I'm not going to stop wanting to make you happy until I can see with my own eyes that you really are happy." She leaned towards him, eyes serious. "In the meantime, I'll be like a sister, loving you and looking out for you." He watched her turn her hard gaze onto Sam behind him. Then she spun on her heel, grabbed the two empty beer bottles off the table and stalked behind the bar.

His heart was pounding heavily, his stomach still in knots. He could feel Sam's eyes upon him. He watched Jo toss the bottles, angrily, then she was out the back door and the door shut with an accusing thunk behind her. He wasn't surprised to feel Sam's hands on his shoulders, his mouth, his breath hot beside his ear.

"She's going to be like your sister? That has intriguing possibilities, doesn't it?"

"That shit isn't even funny. At all."

"Isn't it, Dean? Just a little maybe?"

Dean wrenched himself out beneath the weight of Sam's hands. Running a quick hand over his mouth, brushing away the remnant of memory. He turned and looked at his brother. "She kissed me. You were right."

He watched a flash of jealousy spark then burn out in Sam's eyes. "And you told her there was someone else?"

"How long have you been standing there, Sammy?"

"Not long enough, apparently."

Dean laughed hollowly. "Because what were you going to do? Defend my honour?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there for that, so I really don't know what I would have done. This isn't like some skank in a bar making her moves on you, Dean. This is Jo. And I've been trying to warn you for weeks now." He shrugged. "I feel sorry for her."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"What did you tell her, exactly?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't remember. Exactly. Let's get the bedrolls outta the Impala and get some sleep."

"Dean," Sam's voice was quiet, concerned. "What did you tell her?"

They stared at each other. Sam took a step forward, towards him and behind his ribs, Dean's heart beat upwards in longing and in need. His hands curled into fists, he pressed them hard against his thighs. Suddenly, his throat constricted, parched, his mouth dry with wanting. He tilted his head, watching Sam advance on him.

His brother narrowed the world, his world, to just the two of them, the world they belonged to, belonged inside of, their only home.

Dean stepped across the small last bit of floor and Sam moved faster, grabbing at him. Hauling him bodily against him, pulling him over to the bar, manhandling him up onto a stool and then pressing home, hard between his open thighs. Dean groaned. Sam bent into his chest, forcing him backwards hard, fast, the edge of the bar catching him beneath the spurs of his shoulder blades, trapping him between wood and flesh. Sam's hands on his ass, sliding down the undersides of his thighs, grinding their erections together, moaning against his temple.

Dean's arms were tight around his waist, rucking up under Sam's shirts, splaying his hands hot across his bare back.

Sam reached for his face and grabbed fiercely at his jaw, fingertips pressing into the whorls of his ears, deafening him to the slight sound behind him of the back door opening and Jo walking partway across the threshold.

Dean let his face be tilted between Sam's hands, closed his eyes as Sam kissed him hard, feeling the possession, wanting to be possessed, owned. Sam kissed him frantically and deeply, murmuring into his mouth. Dean tasted the words on his tongue and they tasted like home and love and possession.   
 

 

Sam opened his eyes, mouth still locked fast on Dean's, and he glanced beneath his long lashes, up and over to where Jo was standing frozen in the doorway. Their gazes collided; smashing, destroying. His eyes slid shut, his lips moving from Dean's mouth, kisses ghosted over his cheekbone, against his ear and he whispered, "I love you." When he looked up again, the door was swinging closed, shutting softly and with finality, leaving the Winchester brothers together and alone.


End file.
